


When It Rains.... It Pours

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Big Sister Alex Danvers, Established Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, F/F, Gen, Hurt Kara Danvers, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: Maggie pauses, sweeping her flashlight beam, left, where there’s nothing, and then right… where the path continues, and it definitely continues, but her light isn’t strong enough to illuminate the rest of its path.A few more steps and the path began to narrow, and this time when she raises her flashlight, an angry flash of lightning throws light into her path.And at the end... it's a person.A person is lying supine there on the ground, mud caked up all over them, so eerily still.And finally, the smell finally clicks.Blood. //llMaggie is sent on a wild goose chase, that is a lot more wild than intended. //llAnother Maggie doesn't know who Supergirl really is... yet. fic.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Kara Danvers & Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 33
Kudos: 406





	When It Rains.... It Pours

**Author's Note:**

> Another story I dug out of the bunker.
> 
> AU, and takes place back in S2.
> 
> Enjoy

“Okay,” Maggie asks loudly, huddling under what’s left of a wooden porch to shield herself from the harsh pattering of heavy rain, “And what time did you think that was?”

The plump, elderly woman, Andrea, she had introduced herself as, glares at the detective, jaw clenching as her pale, meaty fists curled against the border of the door that had barely cracked open enough to even allow for this conversation. Like Maggie had slapped her instead of asking a follow up question for the report she was required to take.

“Why don’t you ask the man on the phone? I called over forty-five minutes ago and they’re just now sending someone over! And just one little lady cop, what the hell are you supposed to do-”

Tuning out the woman’s nasally tirade, Maggie dimly realizes this was probably another one of the precinct’s tests. Despite Gotham PD being grateful enough to take literally anyone, she was all too aware how probationary officers were treated when they first joined the force and Maggie had only been working for National City’s Police Department for just over three months.

She had gotten her fair share of night shifts, like this one, just by virtue of being on the bottom of the totem pole and putting more thought into it, the detective realizes late night solo trips to the backcountry of National City in the pouring rain seemed right up that alley.

“Ma’am,” Maggie cuts in sharply, when the older woman shows no clear time of stopping. “I’m just trying to help. Now what time did this happen?”

The woman’s beady eyes blink furiously and her mouth thins into a small line, clearly not used to being interrupted, but what would've been a lengthy silence is interrupted by another boom of thunder that vibrates through the air.

With it the wind swiftly switches direction, sending cool rain smattering against her back.

“A quarter past one.” she spits at last, closing the door slightly to shield herself from the storm’s onslaught. “Shook the whole damn house, could’ve caved the fucking roof in. Could’ve died for how slow you people are in responding.”

Maggie blinks, looking down at her ink-smeared notepad and she forces back a retort that likely wouldn’t go over well,

“And you’re positive it wasn’t the storm.”

The detective says more than asks, but the vein bulges in the woman’s forehead anyway.

“Of course! I’ve lived out here for sixty-two years. You don’t think I know what thunder sounds like?”

Maggie nods to placate her, even when there’s no one within at least a five mile radius to corroborate the story, one of the benefits and downfalls of living in the countryside.

It reminds her of Blue Springs, even when she wants to forget.

“Okay, do you know where it originated from?”

“I didn’t see it happen, but when my house shook, I looked out my kitchen window and saw bits of a fire out in the farmland, where Edward planted his soybeans for the year. It’s my job to make sure they survive the summer, while he trucks in the off season-”

Andrea continues talking, but it blurs into something unintelligible as she walks to the edge of the porch, using her police jacket to cover her head as she gazed into darkness.

“This way?”

The older woman nods.

Maggie squints and when a flash of lightning briefly illuminates the field, she supposes Andrea wasn’t downright insane. There was a rather clear distortion.

She sighs, shoving her ruined notepad into her pocket, and pulls out a flashlight instead.

And the rain drops sting like pellets against her paper-thin jacket as her feet sink into muddy topsoil when she steps off the porch.

In an afterthought, Maggie turns backs toward the door to explain, but she’s greeted with a slam of a door.

Okay then.

Flattened leaves of the soybean plants brush out against her legs like withered, weak ghostly fingers as she moves further into the field, sweeping her dull flashlight beam over the ground for the distortion she'd seen at the porch, but in true fashion to the mood of tonight, is playing a game of hide and seek now.

God.

She does not get paid enough for this.

In long seconds, the flickering porch light and the house become minuscule versions of themselves, until Maggie’s flashlight beam isn’t enough to cut through the torrent of rain, much less, the darkness to see the shapeless structure she knows is just beyond reach.

God. Damn. It.

Then she smells it.

Bitter and acrid.

She knows that smell.

A minute of walking inches by and when she’s about to chalk the unusual smell up to some funky fertilizer, the detective stumbles from the rows and rows of identical plants directly into the path of the vegetation that’s distorted into muddied, indented topsoil.

It is a wide arching dragging path, what’s left of the soybean plants, flattened or torn from their roots, like something heavy had been pulled against the pliable dirt. Yet, the only way that could have happened is if something fell there, and there were no trees in the middle of this empty field.

Maggie pauses, sweeping her flashlight beam, left, where there’s nothing, and then right… where the path continues, and it definitely continues, but her light isn’t strong enough to illuminate the rest of its path.

The detective steps into the indented topsoil and the divots in the mud pushed to the sides reach up to the midpoint of her shins, the inner valley of the wet dirt covering the hoods of her academy boots, and man is she going to enjoy leaving the mess in the squad car for the others to clean up.

Serves them right for sending her out here.

As she moves along the path, the odor grows stronger, so strong it starts to sit heavy at the back of her throat.

And why… why can’t she place it?

A few more steps and the path began to narrow, and this time when she raises her flashlight, an angry flash of lightning throws light into her path.

And at the end... it’s a person.

A person is lying supine there on the ground, mud caked up all over them, so eerily still.

And finally, the smell finally clicks.

Blood.

It paralyzes her for a moment and crimson rushes through her own ears, the sheer velocity of it pulling her heart somewhere below her chest as the lighting fades.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Maggie picks up her pace, yanking her feet out of muddy quicksand, stumbling forward in an effort to get closer, to help.

And as she gets closer, her flashlight is finally able to provide details under the onslaught of rain.

Of darkened brown, of woven red, and azure blue.

And when she finally comes to a stop, the detective realizes this isn’t just any person.

“Supergirl?”

The question comes out watery and muddled under the downpour of rain, disappearing into the darkness of the formally moonlit sky.

There on the ground, caked in mud, crimson rainwater, and charred vegetation is National City’s biggest hero.

She’s awake, that much the detective can tell, half lidded eyes gazing into the air, wheezing in ragged breaths that are only halfway kind of doing its job, and there is blood, not a lot, but enough for someone who isn’t even supposed to be bleeding.

And it’s everywhere.

The only time she’s ever seen that much blood is… well… back in Gotham. When it was her patrol partner, Loffelor, bleeding out onto the concrete in front of Kozy Korner after a traffic stop gone bad, but even that is somehow different the way Loffelor had looked, sticky with the crimson of what was supposed to be inside of him, because it had been localized.This scarlet, what she’s looking at now, even as it dilutes with the rainwater and drains down into the soil, this looks generalized.

And of things she expected to see tonight, it was not someone generally seen as infallible, indestructible even, lying there on the ground of a country field.

It’s tempting to give into the panic that’s pulsing at the corners of her vision, threatening to overwhelm her as her hand drifts to her radio unsure, but then the fallen hero drags in ragged, shuddering breath and the lightning illuminates her blood-streaked face, and Maggie takes a deep breath and finds her own oxygen.

This was no time to freeze up.

“Supergirl!”

She blurts, dropping onto her knees next to the fallen hero, and she doesn’t even care about the mud this time, hovering as she tries to remember her training.

The blonde’s brows contort, skin wan and ashen, and her mouth opens slightly as azure, distant eyes flit left to gaze at the detective.

“Muh… Maggie?”

The blonde wheezes confused in a hiccup of gurgling air and the detective pauses.

Even as a cop, she’s seen the caped hero as much as anyone else in National City. Mostly from afar, a shadow darting off in the sky or shaking the mayor’s hand on television, but she’d only met the woman about three times in person and with all of the people Supergirl must meet on daily excursions, she’s almost certain her name would have been on the back burner.

“Yeah? Yeah, it’s Maggie. You have a good memory! Do you remember what I do?”

The brunette asks with a forced casualness, training kicking back in as she assesses her mental status, sweeping her flashlight down Supergirl’s body, noting how she still hasn’t moved.

And it becomes clear that whatever happened, the blonde's right side had taken the brunt of it.

Her right arm is crooked in too many places as her right hand twitches futility beside her, and the breastplate of her suit is noticeably mottled with darkened, muted colors, reds and browns, and greens, and it’s impossible to tell if it came from the outside or inside.

If it hadn’t been Supergirl or if they hadn’t been sitting in the middle of this field, she would have thought it was a car accident because everything looks like it has been dragged along the pavement, for a mile at least, if not more.

What the hell happened?

“Are ya… ya… kidding?”

Supergirl drawls under the rainwater and she sounds terribly young.

And how old is Supergirl really?

“You’re the d-detective who’s been… b-been… dating m-Alex.”

Maggie’s ears redden, heat rushing to her face, and Jesus Christ, she knew Alex, her official girlfriend of five weeks, and Supergirl were coworkers, but she’d never thought of them as casual small talk buddies, even when Alex did have more than a handful of stories involving the statuesque stunner.

Still, it’s hard to imagine just what those conversations would look like and now is neither the time nor place to wrap her head around it.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, she’s been talking about me, huh?”

If Supergirl recognizes the stutter in her response, she doesn’t point it out, instead she laughs, a gurgling choke of a laugh that collapses into a wheeze, speckles of red flicking out the corners of her mouth when she finishes, and both parts of that reaction bother Maggie more than a little.

“All… the time! S-super secret agent Alex D-Danvers detectiving s-stuff with Detective Maggie Sawyer.”

Supergirl whispers with gravel in her throat, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and when the detective sweeps her flashlight back up to her face, the blonde is looking away from her again.

Drifting.

The signs are there.

Pallor. Blood loss.

How her teeth are chattering despite the humidity.

How she’s laughing at everything.

Supergirl is in shock.

Supergirl. Is. In. Shock.

And that means this is bad.

Alright… Okay… Stick with the training and Maggie asks the first of two important questions as she shrugs off her rain poncho to shield them both from the rain.

"Hey… Hey, look at me. What happened?"

The blonde blinks dazed. Once. Twice. Line of sight on the detective again, just for a moment, eyes glossy with something indecipherable, before they roll again back into the sky.

“P-put too much on… and f-fell. It’s fine… fine… though. I heal…”

Supergirl slurs finally, a stupid grin spreading across her face with an unnerving familiarity, and there is red on her teeth when she does so, but what the blonde is saying isn’t entirely making sense, nor is it matching up with what the detective is seeing.

Maggie turns back behind her and waves the flashlight at the dragging, indented topsoil back to the blonde where it stops.

“You fell…. You fell from the sky?”

The detective says more than asks as she tucks her flashlight under her elbow, because the details are already coming together and it really is less ‘fell’, but more of ‘crash-landed’.

But who is she to judge?

“I… I… I heal t-though… So it’s... s’okay.”

Supergirl repeats airily, clearly not understanding the reasoning behind Maggie’s skeptical look.

It’s not that the detective thinks she’s lying.

It’s just that she has never seen the superhero bruise, much less bleed, and her slurring words are certainly no firm, resounding reassurance either.

“Okay… Okay… Can you tell me what hurts?”

She asks, situating the jacket over both of their heads, so at least their faces could be protected by the unforgiving rain.

"Rao… I f-feel…. F-feel,” Supergirl hiccups wetly over her words as they drag out into the atmosphere. “Flan… Fan-flipping-tastic."

Another rattle of a shaky breath and the detectives own two eyes prove that statement wrong easily.

"Did you hit your head?"

Maggie asks, attempting to be more specific, and the rain is harder now, stinging bullets against the flimsy hood of her coat.

“I’m all… f-floaty… lugga a b-bubble, Maggie.”

Supergirl drawls, staring intently at the hoodie now, trying to figure out how it got there.

So yes, probably.

“Hey, no. It’s a yes or no question, did you hit your head?”

She repeats, more insistent, and lightning flashes again, reminding the detective that they’re the tallest things in the field as electricity bounces around them.

Maggie looks away, back towards the house, searching for its chromatic lights and depilated, wooden porch. It hadn’t been that far of a walk, if they could get back over there...

“M’gonna be… honest w-with ya, I hit m’everything,”

Supergirl mumbles, looking away from the detective, down to her right hand that’s twitching at her side again, spastic grasping movements in the dirt, as she coughs again, wetter on the exhale.

“H-hey...why are you a… ah interrogatin’ me... M’no bad guy.”

The blonde wheezes, confusion interlacing with annoyance, and the detective has to remind herself that the hero clearly doesn’t know what state she’s in.

“I know you’re not the bad guy, but you’re injured, so you have to try and answer my questions so I can help. Now please, Supergirl, can you tell me what part of you hurts the most?”

The tall blonde gazes at her again, confused, for a long moment, but apparently, please is all it takes.

“Uh… Um… My r-ribs feel kinda f-funny.”

Supergirl finally admits.

“Your ribs, huh? I’m going to take a look.”

Maggie doesn’t phrase it as a question this time, trying to avoid another circular conversation, as she shuffles over to the blonde’s right side and leans closer to get a clear look.

And maybe funny is an alien euphemism for wrecked because this is worse.

Coming from her right lower side is a steady flow of oozing crimson, bubbling out past shriveling plant life and clumping, muddy topsoil and that she already knew, but the blonde’s uniform is also torn in some places, charred black in a large stretching swath of fabric that stretches from just below her belt loop and maybe up to the sternum if Maggie would have attempted to wipe the mud away.

Distantly, she remembers Andrea saying something about a fire, and wonders if the blonde had been going so fast, that the friction caused this and recognizes that maybe the bitter, acrid smell may not just be blood, but also burnt flesh.

And if this is the outside, crimson oozing not spurting, and she’s this lightheaded and loopy, then the inside has to be worse.

Falling at that height at that speed, that was a recipe of disaster for anyone.

Jesus Christ.

This is not something she’s going to be able to talk Supergirl away from.

“Don’t w-worry bout it. I… I-I told you I heal…”

The hero repeats for the third time almost childishly, but she is at least two shades paler than she was when Maggie had stumbled upon her, and this incessance that everything is going to be fine doesn’t mesh well with the reality that the detective is not medically trained for the situation if it continues to deteriorate.

“Yeah, well how about you let me help with that?”

Maggie says after a moment, forcing herself to make a judgement call against using her jacket as shelter or a makeshift bandage and Supergirl’s blood-tinged, dazed smile she gives in return doesn’t exactly inspire any confidence for moving toward a ‘wait and see’ route either.

It isn’t that cold out here, despite the rain, she thinks. They could manage without it for a while, if it meant stopping that bleeding.

So, bandage it is.

She moves the jacket, and the rain is cool against her back as she begins balling it up, below her the blonde watches sluggishly, before catching on to what she’s doing.

“Whaddaya… no y-you don… hafta do that. You’ll b-be wet if ya do tha…”

The blonde slurs and the detective smiles grimly.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m only concerned about you right now. We gotta stop this bleeding.”

But still the injured hero grows more agitated.

“D-don’t touch it…. It h-hurts if you touch it…”

Supergirl stutters, the smile gone, shallow breathing growing shallower, and Maggie supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that the other woman had been alert enough to assess things herself just in the hour and a half she’d been out here alone.

“I know. I know, but we have to get a handle on this.”

Maggie hastens to reassure, but the blonde is having none of it.

“N-no. Isss… a… g- gonna hurt.”

And the detective registers again, even protesting, Supergirl still hasn’t moved.

In fact she hasn’t moved, significantly anyway, since she got here.

Her heart sinks with realization like a stone, pulling deep and heavy, somewhere below her feet.

“Okay. We’ll put a pin in it for a second, but you must answer a question for me okay? I need you to answer for me honestly.”

Supergirl’s eyes, azure and cloudy, move away from the jacket and back up to her, but she remains silent, so the detective continues.

“Are you… not moving because you don’t want to or… because you can’t?”

The question is sticky like molasses in her mouth, thick and slow as she forces the question into the air because she really doesn’t want to hear the answer she already suspects.

Supergirl smiles again groggily.

“Issa… Isss f-fine…”

“No. Seriously.” Maggie murmurs, and she moves a hand down to the blonde’s leg, pokes at it roughly. “Can you feel that?”

“C-course…”

The tall blonde whispers.

“How about now?”

Maggie moves her hand and Supergirl slurs another affirmative.

“Really? Because I’m not touching you.”

The detective mutters and her hand is shaking now as it hovers over the blonde.

She has to clench it to make it stop.

“Is s’okay… I-I…”

“You heal. I know.”

The detective whispers, sweeping some of the blonde’s matted rain-soaked hair away, because it’s the least she can do and in the same moment, the detective realizes, despite the hero’s boundless optimism, she can’t do this alone; she's going to have to call for backup.

“Look Supergirl, I’m going to be honest with you. You’re lying in a soy field after you ‘fell’ from the sky. You’re bleeding from more than one place. You’re breathing like you swallowed a cheese grater and I’ve seen envelopes with more color than your skin right now. You can’t move, can barely even feel your legs. If we weren’t here and you weren’t you, I’d say you’d look like you’ve been in a car wreck. And I have to say after all my years of detectiveing, it doesn’t look like you’re heal- Hey, what are you reaching for?”

Maggie says as the tall blonde’s right-hand spasms again and the detective finally recognizes the movement for what it is.

“I.... I… w-wanted to… uh… call but I c-can’t....”

Supergirl whispers and for the first time that night she sounds sad.

Maggie swallows, sweeping her light over the field around them again, looking for a phone, a walkie talkie, an anything, but there is nothing.

“Yeah? Well, I’m going to make a call of my own, okay? And when we get that handled, we can make your call, sound good?”

The detective murmurs, palming for her phone in her back pocket.

She should probably call her commanding officer or even 911, but both had no existing protocol as far as it came to Supergirl, and they'd probably just transfer her to the Department of Extranormal Operations anyway.

Good thing she already knows someone who works there.

“H-Hunky… Dory...”

The blonde slurs, but her hand is still moving, so the detective is unsure how much she’s really comprehending of the statement.

Maggie’s phone is slippery in her hands and poking at the screen with red, muddy hands definitely doesn’t make it easier, but then the number is dialing, shoved up against her ear.

“Hey? You’re calling late, Sawyer.”

Alex answers with a yawn after the third ring, clearly having been pulled from sleep, and any other time Maggie might have teased her or complimented her on how cute she sounded when she was tired, but not now.

“Hey, I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but I have a situation I need help with. It’s Supergirl.”

Maggie starts and another boom of thunder shakes the air around them.

“What? Supergirl?”

And Alex sounds a lot more awake now.

The flow of words rush out of Maggie as she struggles to explain the whole situation and the entire time she can hear Alex moving in the background of the call, rolling out of bed, flicking the lights on, getting dressed, like she knows this isn’t going to get resolved over a ten-minute phone call.

“-and she’s saying she can heal, Alex, but I… haven’t seen any evidence of that. And I’m not medically trained for what happens if she doesn’t.”

Maggie finishes and the entire time Alex is patient and doesn’t interrupt, even as the detective picks up faster and faster because below her, Supergirl is drifting again, panting through her mouth, eyes half-lidded again.

“Alright. Alright… Uh… Do you see anything green? It wouldn’t be like the plants, but neonish, glows in the dark, kind of like a strobe light?”

Alex is forcefully calm in her deliberate questioning, but the detective can pinpoint the carefully veiled worry in her tone, quieter than the jingle of keys and the slamming of a door behind her.

The detective blinks down again, positive she would have seen something so obvious, and even as she stares in the darkness, nothing green pops out at her.

“No. No, I don’t see anything green.”

She murmurs, and below her, Supergirl is saying something again, about wanting to make a call, and the detective can’t divide her attention between two conversations at once.

“Shit.” Alex says, then softer, “Goddamnit, why isn’t she wearing her tracker? Can you tell me where you guys are, Mags?”

The detective rattles off an address that whistles into the air, nearly overcome by another rattling cough erupting from the blonde and there is more blood, dark and syrupy, at the edges of her mouth when she finishes.

Maggie doesn’t have to be a doctor to realize that is bad and she hears Alex swallow on the other end, knowing that she knows it too.

“And she said she didn’t get in a fight?”

Alex asks, a bit more exasperated, and the detectives can hear a car engine revving in the background.

“No. She’s just saying she fell.”

Maggie repeats.

“Alright, uh… I'm headed over to where you are and I’m going to call J’onn and he’s going to send a med-evac team. But for now, I’m gonna walk you through some medical stuff okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s fine.”

Maggie breathes and the blonde is talking again.

“S-see… Issa s’okay. I-I wanna … call.”

Supergirl slurs, having only heard whispers of one side of the conversation,

“You said her breathing was labored right, is it even? Is everything rising at the same time?”

Alex is saying over the fallen hero.

“Alex, yes but…”

“Well that’s good. That’s good. It means it’s not flail chest then-”

“Alex…”

“-so it’s okay to put pressure on it.”

“Alex, she wants to call someone.”

The phone line is silent.

“And… and I think we should let her.”

Silence.

Silence for a moment so long that Maggie thinks she said something wrong.

“Uh…”

Alex mumbles and Maggie hears as her girlfriend inhales shakily.

“Uh… Put it on speaker okay? Please?”

Maggie nods, fumbles for the speaker button on her cellphone.

“Hey… Hey this is Agent Danvers, okay? Alex, remember? She’s gonna talk to you for a bit, okay? And help me help you.”

She tells the taller woman as she nestles the phone down in the mud by the blonde’s ear.

“Hey…. Supergirl. I heard you weren’t looking too hot.”

Alex murmurs and her words come out tinny and echoing on speaker phone, but the tone is softer, gentle, careful…. and familiar.

“H-hey… Hey! I found y-your… ah… g-girlfriend…”

Supergirl pants deliriously, looking up at Maggie, discontentment at the jacket forgotten as her face splits into another dopey, blood tinged smile.

“Really? She said she found you.”

Her girlfriend scolds gently and Maggie doesn’t know whether to be confused or comforted at how casual they are with each other or how the blonde instantly knew who was talking too.

“Y-yeah… maybe… b-but did you k-know she has…. uh…. h-has… dimples?”

The blonde warbles, but she’s shaky searching the detective’s face and Maggie can’t help but smile in reflex at how eager she is to explain.

“Yes…. I know Mags has dimples, she’s pretty isn’t she? And she’s also super smart, so you need to listen to her, okay? You need to let her help. And that means letting her stop you from bleeding. Understand?”

Supergirl laughs again, weak and airy, and the next breath she takes sounds like someone trying to suck water up through a coffee stirrer.

“Don’t w-worry Lex I… heal... m-member? You… jus... gotta tell… M-Maggie that.”

“No. Maggie’s right. So, doe me a favor, okay, I need you to listen to her. I texted J’onn and he’s on his way with a med-evac team. And I’m going to be right behind him, but you need to listen to Maggie right now.”

“Wow… all this… over a… ah… f-fall.’

The blonde whispers and her eyes are like marbles now, half hidden by drooping eyelids.

“Hey… Nope! Gotta keep those eyes open.” Maggie orders firmly, shaking the hero’s shoulders until azure eyes are on her again. “You heard Alex, I’m the captain now, so you have to listen to me, and I want you to stay awake for me okay?”

Supergirl blinks slowly.

“Aye… Eye… c-cap’n”

She mumbles.

“You said you fell, right Supergirl?’ Alex is asking over the speakerphone, stumbling over the hero moniker once more. “What happened before that. Walk us through it.”

Supergirl is slow in answering, but to her credit she tries.

“I uh...I was flyin back from… f-from helpin…. helping Barry and the light'n himme a-and I… c--couldn’t fly… anymore...and I-I fell.”

Supergirl gasps out and her chest heaves with the effort and her hand is twitching again, reaching out and the detective reaches for it, grasping gently and the blonde’s hand is cold and clammy as it instinctly curls around her her own, a distinct difference from the sticky warmth on her other hand as she moves to press the jacket up against her side.

And surely there is a lot more to the struggling gasp of a story, but it’s more detailed that what Maggie had heard from her earlier, so it was something to work with.

“You were with Barry, after training all day, then flew in a thunderstorm. Jesus, I told you to let me know when you were going off world-”

Misplaced frustration is lacing Alex’s words and she must realize it too because she cuts herself off.

“Never mind…. that's… you said lightning? That’s a lot to take in a hit… do you think…. Do you think… Is it possible you might have solar flared?”

Solar flared?

The blonde is silent and her brow is furrowed again, a crinkle creasing through her forehead, and it’s clear that she’d never considered that thought before.

“I dunno… M-maybe. B-but I… f-feel… I feel… f-floaty… ligga… like a… bubble.”

She mumbles finally, in a puff in the air, and when Maggie presses the jacket up against the bloody, burnt mess of Supergirl’s side, the blonde groans back into movement, and it’s hard to tell the difference between what are tears and what are raindrops that stream down her face.

“Yeah, well anchor down okay? We can’t lose you to the rain.”

Alex says and her voice wavers now. Less calm, less sure.

Undoubtedly, calculating the same odds as the detective did.

Supergirl doesn’t answer, eyes rolling up back toward the sky.

“Ya… know M-Maggie I… don... like storms.”

“Yeah? I don’t like them either, and it’s a good thing they don’t last forever, huh, Supergirl?”

Maggie affirms, as soothing as she can make it sound as she presses harder and she can feel something moving under her steady grip, even when Supergirl is still.

“Why… you keep… uh… k-keep calling me that?”

The blonde slurs, wincing, and Maggie has to lean closer still to hear.

“Calling you what?”

“S-Supergirl.”

She whispers atonally, and her breath is coming in rapid hitches now, like a newborn when it tries to cry.

“Issa… hurts…”

Supergirl mumbles and Maggie can barely hear her under the rush of rainwater.

“Is… Is there something else you want me to call you?”

She asks and the detective’s own teeth chatter now.

God damn rain.

Supergirl doesn’t answer.

Her eyes are rolling again.

Jesus Christ.

Supergirl will not die here.

Not today.

Not like this.

Not on her watch.

“I did it.”

She says, letting go for a second to scoop the phone out of the mud, pressing it against her ear with the crook of her shoulder.

“It’s up against the one on her side, as much pressure as I could, but some of her ribs are broken, Alex. I could feel them move, when I put pressure. “

The detective relays and Supergirl’s eyes are drooping again and Maggie presses her hands harder into her side, trying to spur her back.

It works kind of, because the blonde is squirming under her grip, but her attempt is noticeably weaker than the last time, and that is something she wishes she didn’t recognize.

“Ten minutes.”

Alex says loudly and the detective realizes she forgot about speakerphone.

“Ten, that’s the ETA, okay? J’onn’s picking me up. We’re gonna meet you guys here. You’re doing great, Maggie. Everything’s going to be fine.”

She says.

And Maggie doesn’t know if Alex is trying to convince the detective or herself.

“Got it. I got it.”

The detective replies, then starts poking at the injured blonde again.

“Hey! Wake up! You still have to make your phone call, yeah? Can’t do that if you’re sleeping.”

Supergirl looks at her and her eyes are far, far away… looking right through her.

The blonde blinks once.

Then twice.

Sweeps her tongue over blood splattered lips and stares.

“B-but… I-I… I am.”

She whispers confused.

Maggie blinks and flickering moments stitch themselves together.

How the blonde knew her name, how her smile had seemed familiar, how Alex’s voice had shifted when she’d talked to her, and how she’d instantly known who Alex was, how she’d questioned the detective using the hero moniker, how Alex kept stumbling over her superhero name… how the blonde insisted that she’d already done her phone call.

And finally, it clicks.

Who Supergirl is.

“Kara?”

The blonde smiles.

Tired, miniscule, barely there, but a smile all the same.

And it is Kara's smile, weak and small and fragile as it is.

And she’s seen it at Alex’s apartment, at the police station, at the bar, at Noonan’s.

And Supergirl is Kara.

And Kara is Supergirl.

The split seam is horrifying.

Because that means Supergirl is a reporter and Alex’s kid sister and a living garbage disposal that can consume way too many pot-stickers in one sitting.

And she is lying here on this field.

Dying.

Jesus.

Maggie’s hands are shaking, fingers, limbs, entire body trembling with a buzz of electricity and the sky lights up again, but she can’t focus.

“Alex…”

The detective starts and she doesn’t know what kind of emotion she puts behind her girlfriend’s name, doesn’t know if she mumbles it or screams, doesn’t know what she’s about to ask, but does know she has her hands on Alex’s sister.

Alex’s sister.

“I… I…”

And she thinks of her Gotham City detective, Loffelor and how he had died on the streets, bleeding out just like Kara was, and how that pressure on his wound didn’t help then, and how his sister wouldn’t even look at her at the funeral, and how she’d run from Gotham because of it.

And can’t help but think if this is what happens now.

What if it happens again?

And over her racing, frantic thoughts, the detective can hear someone talking.

Alex.

“-Maggie. Maggie! Hey! I need you to breathe for me okay? Breathe!”

And she does, not even realizing she was holding her breath in the first place.

Dragging in one breath, then another, then feels guilty because she can hear the stridor in Supergi- no Kara’s unsteady inhalations.

“I know it’s crazy. I know it’s insane. And… and I swear to God I’ll explain it all, but you-you can do this alright? I know you can!”

She can and she does.

Beneath her Kara’s jaw is slack, skin white as a porcelain doll, and she’s blinking fast, too fast as she struggles to rake oxygen and her lips are turning the same color as her eyes and she seems more like a kid than ever.

And Maggie understands now why Alex had always been so protective of Supergirl.

And feels that odd sort of protectiveness now.

“It’s okay. I… you don’t have to explain it okay, just… just.. get here.

Maggie says, squeezing Kara’s hand harder, the grip only barely returned.

“Your sister needs you.”

Maggie murmurs softly.

“I’m five minutes out, okay. Five.”

They make it in three.

**Author's Note:**

> Por smol beans...
> 
> Might write an epilogue to this.
> 
> I don't know.
> 
> Let me know what you thought?
> 
> Any other plots you want to see?
> 
> Quarantine is giving me a lot of free time.


End file.
